


The Art of Compromise

by enkiduu



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, F/F, F/M, M/M, Modern Setting, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7363816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkiduu/pseuds/enkiduu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas is a lawyer and Alexander's the journalist who won't stop badgering him. It shouldn't happen, but somehow, they end up working on the same side. </p><p>Thomas will never be paid enough for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's the firm's tenth year anniversary. That means Thomas Jefferson, Esquire, is at a celebratory party where he can relax, enjoy the delicious food and the pleasant classical music...

"Jefferson," a voice says, strong and abrasive. And unfortunately, familiar and unforgettable. You can't just forget someone who speaks to you as if you're the only person in the world.

It's a whole lot less romantic than it sounds when Alexander Hamilton's a bloodhound.

Thomas rolls his eyes before he even turns around. "Alexander," he drawls sweetly, because he knows that makes the journalist bristle. "Please excuse us," he says to the business associates he's been talking with and leads Alexander away before he starts vilifying Thomas' name in a crowd. Again. The last time had nearly cost him a settlement, which would border on impressive if it weren't so annoying.

How the hell does Alexander keep finding him?

Alexander Hamilton is, for once, wearing a suit instead of a careless jacket. His hair is pulled back, as messy as always. He's probably somebody who'd wear jeans in the fucking White House.

Anybody else could've and would've been easily ignored, but Alexander's eyes are bright, hungry for information and the so-called 'truth and justice'. His gaze is sharper than that of any other lawyer Thomas has met.

Also, his eyes are brilliant and stunning, a beautiful dark shade that seems to glint violet under the light. Fuck.

Honestly, Thomas regrets Alexander's career choice. He'd have made a good lawyer, considering how he loves to argue. And if anything, he'd be contentious enough to annoy the judge, which would be much more amusing than Alexander annoying Thomas.

"Care to talk about your latest court case? The Barbary Corps are notorious for acting like pirates, how could you defend them? Their corporation has been under for scrutiny for fraud, you should be prosecuting them, not defending them!"

Thomas is ninety percent sure that Alexander doesn't even ask questions, he just accuses people. How does he even score interviews with willing victims? What sort of idiot would care to hear about Alexander's judgement?

"Sally, who let this thing into my party?" Thomas asks, looking past Alexander, and damn is it hard to look away from Alexander once you see him.

Sally doesn't check the reception guest list because she's memorized it, simply says with a slight quirk of the lips, "he's not on here, Mr Jefferson."

Thomas narrows his eyes warily at Alexander, who shamelessly grins.

"I'm the plus one," he informs Thomas smugly, "of Eliza Schuyler. And oh, Angelica says she expects you to do a one-on-one with me."

Thomas looks around the room for the Schuyler sisters. It's not hard to spot them: Angelica is a fierce presence, a star who knows everything important and everyone who's anyone in this city. By her side is Eliza, the journalist who has everyone saying good things about her and works well with Washington United. Even Thomas can't deny that she's helped the firm.

But of course Eliza knows Hamilton. Fuck New York and its small social circles sometimes, seriously.

"Payback," Thomas mutters a little despairingly as Angelica flashes him a knowing smirk. "Never mess with that woman."

"I'm not stupid, I don't mess with any woman," Alexander says, sounding amused, and Thomas almost agrees with him because Alexander is indeed brilliant, before biting down on his tongue and glaring. Alexander smirks. "What did you do? Condescend?"

"That's for me to know and you to never find out," Thomas says. "This is a decade party celebrating Washington United, save the interrogation for later. Just let me enjoy tonight for a while more before you ruin it, yeah?"

"If you try to escape this," Alexander says, "Angelica's going to know."

Thomas smiles pleasantly, a clear _fuck you_. "Alexander, I should remind you that you're nothing without her behind you."

Alexander huffs indignantly. "Yeah, well, you're the one bending over," he retorts.

"Seriously. Why are you so intent on antagonizing me?" Thomas asks. "You praise every other lawyer from Washington." He raises an eyebrow. "Hell, you even praised the building's fucking architecture over me."

"Ha, so you have searched me up," Alexander says, and it honestly reaches Thomas more than any other verbal bullet he's shot towards Thomas.

Interest. Is interest in Alexander really so strange?

Thomas can't genuinely say he doesn't enjoy bantering with Alexander, because he does. But he can still lie about it because he ain't telling Alexander _shit_.

While Alexander works on the record, Thomas works mostly off. And there's no off switch with Alexander Hamilton.

It's too bad that Alexander claims to care about what is fair and what is the truth. For someone who has such an unfairly pretty face and works a dogged, ruthless journalism that honestly borders on slander, Alexander really shouldn't be talking.

Sure, Thomas isn't a very by-the-books lawyer, but he knows what works, he knows what doesn't. Thomas Jefferson isn't paid to give a fuck about the law, he's paid to win. And he's very good at winning.

And sure, Alexander reminds Thomas just a bit of what it feels like to believe in something again—turns out his incessant badgering has gotten through slightly—but still.

Thomas knows what he is. He knows what he isn't. He doesn't care, he doesn't see why Alexander does.

"That's besides the point. In fact, you stray from the point so much that nobody gets your work. If you even ever have a central point."

It's decidedly untrue—Thomas thinks that all of Washington United has been reading Hamilton's work since he joined New York Post and began reporting across various fields: economical, political, and legal. And posting the occasional Broadway musical reviews, with which Thomas will not admit to agreeing.

A waiter comes by and Thomas easily swaps drinks without half a glance sideways. Alexander looks a little surprised, saying a quick thank you to the waiter who looks equally surprised.

Thomas laughs. Alexander rolls his eyes, but Thomas can see that Alexander is flustered, fingers fidgeting around his champagne.

An up and rising journalist, Alexander is too opinionated to have been freely invited to a party that matters before, and they both know it.

Alexander is not used to New York, and New York isn't used to him either.

"I only speak the truth," Alexander says. "They deserve the praise. You don't. When have you done anything good for anybody else?"

"Yeah, right," Thomas drawls. "The truth as you see it. I've never lost a single case, Alexander. I'd say that's pretty good."

"So you're saying you're not a hypocritical lawyer who works for whoever the hell pays the highest and makes bullshit arguments as he sees fit?" Alexander inquires, mock surprised.

"Language," Thomas admonishes.

Alexander rolls his eyes. "Sorry, sir," he says sarcastically.

"So it does know how to be polite!"

"Fuck you, sir."

Thomas laughs again. "Why are you so interested in how I do my dealings, anyway?" he asks. "There are tons of other lawyers out there who are also successful. You don't go around throwing stones at them." He reconsiders. "Well, not all of them."

"Because you aren't like the rest."

"For once you say something right," Thomas agrees. "I'm much better."

Alexander snorts. "No. It's because you—" he cuts off.

"What?"

"You're annoying," Alexander says, annoyed.

"And you're lying," Thomas purrs, amused.

Alexander shifts, decidedly uncomfortable. His eyes flicker with something strange for a moment before he glances away quickly.

Thomas arches an eyebrow and is about to ask what's gotten Alexander's panties in a twist when George Washington asks for everybody's attention.

"Thank you all for coming," Washington says with a voice fit for a general and a smile fit for a president.

Thomas sighs inwardly and makes his way to the front because he's due for a speech. He is, perhaps surprisingly due to his eloquence, not a big fan of speeches. But John Adams has a talent for insulting all the sponsors he's supposed to thank while Aaron Burr has a talent for speaking but not really saying anything.

Thus, the honor goes to him: the most reliable partner and the best closer in the history of NYC.

"Just you wait. Where do you think you're going?"

Thomas arches an amused eyebrow at the hand that clasps around his arm. Alexander lets go after a beat as if stung. "Aw, you worried? I'll be back, honey. Worry not."

Thomas hears a snort behind him. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh but could just as easily be a sob.

***

"The New York Post has reported on Washington United a lot already," Eliza murmurs, glancing at Thomas who's currently giving another charming speech of gratitude and partnerships. "We don't really need more special issues. Why're you so fixated on Jefferson?"

"I'm not. It's just that when you look at him," Alexander says, "you think, wow—"

"He's hot?" Eliza asks teasingly.

"No, not that!"

A few people eye him warily. Eliza grins.

Alexander coughs. "You think he is possibly the best lawyer this city has seen. At least, if you rank by pay," he continues. "But he doesn't give a shit about what's right. He's just another money-grabbing, amoral lawyer."

"I'm sorry to say this, Alex, but those _kinda_ go hand-in-hand," Eliza says, popping a slice of orange into her mouth. "Y'know what? I think he did used to care about how he acted."

"Then he let fame and money get to his head, as one does," Angelica says with a shrug. "Mostly the money. He's filthy rich, emphasis on the filthy." She scrunches her nose distastefully. "Though his ego was already big enough to begin with. Among other things."

"What," Alexander says, scandalized.

Eliza laughs.

"Wait, _what,_ " Alexander says.

Angelica winks and pats Alexander on the shoulder. "There. Speech over, go get him," she says after the loud applause dies down. "Rip him apart!"

Alexander stands, readjusts his suit, and with a determined expression, goes to find Thomas amidst the women and men who flock towards him.

"Why are you encouraging him?" Eliza asks after Alexander leaves. "No one's been able to convince Thomas to play nice. Not since..." she trails off. "They're going to rip each other apart."

Angelica raises a glass. "He'll be fine. I doubt Alexander plays nice either, Eliza."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I hope you guys are having a good summer so far. I'm super excited to write this! 
> 
> Disclaimer—my knowledge of law is mostly bullshit backed by watching Suits and Internet research. So yeah. If you study law, I am so sorry for this...
> 
> Anyway, comments and kudos make me very happy. You can also find me on tumblr [here](kolminye.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interview is as you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS LOOK [durchartist](http://durchartist.tumblr.com) drew this super awesome art ahhh [check it out](http://durchartist.tumblr.com/post/147757478249/two-things-inspired-me-to-draw-this-one-is)

Alexander watches as people go on to congratulate Thomas, thanking him for whatever shit Thomas has done for them. He recognizes them as prominent CEOs, mostly. All business associates of his, no one who slings their arms around him like they’re old friends.

They are impeccably dressed (none of them as much so as Thomas is, in his deep, navy blue suit). They say pointless things like _I hope we can continue our partnership_ and you are an incredible lawyer and _please let me suck your dick._

Okay. So what if the last one isn’t verbatim of what they’re saying? It’s pretty damn close.

“Ready for that interview now?” Alexander asked.

“Patience, Alexander,” Thomas said in that ingratiating Southern drawl of his, and Alexander had to take a deep breath to refrain from punching his gorgeous face. “You’ve already waited all these months for this interview. What’s a few more minutes?”

That’s...not true. Sadly. Alexander’s waited a lot longer than three months, and he hates waiting for anything. He’s wanted to speak with Thomas Jefferson since he’d first read his works, though his opinion of him had quickly taken a turn for the worse. But Alexander isn’t about to let the lawyer know that he’s had his eyes on Thomas for years, he's already annoying enough.

So Alexander’s reluctantly standing around, hopefully not looking as awkward as he feels. Most people ignore him. Some flash him judgemental glances. A few smirk at him flirtatiously, to which Alexander returns, but none approach him.

The Plaza Hotel is vast, elegant, expensive, and nothing Alexander’s used to. There are no rats scurrying across the halls, no bugs swarming around the food. Instead there are diamond chandeliers, art on the walls, and beautiful people strutting like supermodels (he’s pretty sure some of them are supermodels), a feast for the eyes.

Alexander shifts around, seeing what gossip he can catch and make sense of, but most are lawyers trying to one-up each other. Angelica is busy meeting her acquaintances and laughing with friends, and Eliza’s chatting with the esteemed former justice, Benjamin Franklin. Alexander doesn’t want to bother them. Well, he wants to, but he won’t.

So Alexander doesn’t have anyone else to focus on. Only himself. Which isn’t good, obviously, though he’s used to feeling out of place. Thomas’ pointing it out, whether directly or otherwise, doesn't help.

But Alexander can focus on Thomas. It’s easy to let his attention be drawn by him. So he lets it, analyzes Thomas’ body language, and finds nothing but self-importance and confidence.

He watches Thomas charm the pants off the sycophants who are trying to get themselves in his good graces. It’s always useful to have a lawyer in the pocket, especially one like Thomas.

But those idiots are letting themselves be charmed, probably think they’re the ones charming Thomas. Honestly, they shouldn't even try.

Not because Thomas is naturally charismatic, but because he really doesn’t give a shit about them, only himself. Alexander sees the insincerity in his grins and hears it in his voice.

The most truthful Alexander’s heard him be is when he’s insulting people. This man isn’t a quarter as polite as he is right now and he wouldn't give a dime to a beggar.

Thomas’ affectations bother him. More than they should, because Alexander’s used to seeing this shit, is expected to do so. Everyone else must know, otherwise they wouldn’t be here in the Plaza Hotel right now, celebrating one of America’s biggest law firms’ tenth year of splitting from Brunswick & Lüneburg.

He’s not proud to say it, will never say it, but Alexander knows very intimately how to play The Game. An immigrant in America like him will never be accepted the way others will.

He doesn’t need them to give him acceptance, but he will have their attention.

“Hey,” someone says. A young man, friendly smile and artless eyes. He's well dressed in a grey suit. “You enjoying the party?” There's a note of irony in his voice.

Maybe he's just very good at acting, maybe Alexander just wants some semblance of company in this waiting, because he can't help smiling back. “It's not much of a party,” he says dryly. “Don't get me wrong—the food and venue are great, but…”

“But the people aren't?” the man finishes for him, then laughs. “Right! Finally, someone who speaks the truth. These parties are all formality. I can't imagine anyone actually enjoying them.” He shakes his head and grins. “I'm John Laurens.”

“Alexander Hamilton.”

“You're here with Eliza, right?”

Alexander blinks, tries to remember if Eliza has talked about this John Laurens before. The name sounds familiar. “Yeah. You know her?”

“We're friends. She's mentioned you once or twice.” John looks at him, all smiles and freckles. “Do you want to, maybe, go grab a drink?”

That doesn’t sound so bad. Alexander definitely needs one, between his stringent deadlines and terrible job. It's not that he hates being a journalist, it's just that only when he became one did he realize how little impact he has. He's torn a few scandals apart, such as the corruption in Albany last month, but there's always more and those who care don't have the power of those who don't to change what's wrong. Speaking of...

Alexander glances over at Jefferson. “I have an interview with Thomas Jefferson soon.”

“Oh.” John blinks, surprised. “How did you manage to get an interview with that guy?”

What? What's so surprising? He frowns and opens his mouth with a retort ready, but he sees John’s sheepish expression as he realizes what he accidentally implied, and Alexander realizes what he actually meant.

“Uh, shit, that's not what I meant,” John quickly backtracks. “It's just that Jefferson is notorious for not working with anyone, y'know? Not even the people he defends, actually,” he says joking, tries for a smile. “Of course you're the one who gets him. You’re quite the journalist.”

Alexander relaxes and smiles back reassuringly. Quite the journalist, huh? He doesn't feel like it matters much. “Yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “He’d better give me that interview before ‘someone more important than you’ conveniently gets caught for assault and he has to leave again,” he says, pitching his voice to mimic Thomas.

John laughs. He gives his laughs away so freely, Alexander thinks.

“So. Do you work at Washington?” Alexander asks.

John doesn’t get the chance to reply, because Thomas suddenly calls out, “Ah, Alexander! You’re here,” cheerfully, as if they’re old friends and he’s just spotted him. Which, if they were (and they emphatically aren’t), would’ve ended the moment Thomas stopped caring about anything other than winning. If he even cared about anything in the first place.

“Damn,” John says, following his gaze. “Good luck, Alexander.” He sounds like he really means it. “Thomas Jefferson’s one conceited man.”

Thomas waves him over emphatically.

“Thanks, John. I couldn't agree more.”

Thomas’ eye twitches and he gives Alexander his best trademarked _fuck you_ smile.

“I'll see you around?” John asks hopefully.

“Yeah,” Alexander says. “See you around.”

Alexander walks over as slowly as he can and is not disappointed that the fuck you smile isn’t the literal kind.

Thomas pats Alexander on the back, purposefully hard, and opens his mouth to introduce him, but Alexander’s already stretching out his hand.

“Alexander Hamilton,” he says, hoping to get his name in and to as many people as he can. First impressions are important. “I—”

“He works with the New York Post,” Thomas dives in, and well, so much for first impressions. “Journalist,” he adds graciously, and Alexander thinks he knows exactly why Thomas called him over.

“Ah. PR getting on your case again?” the other man asks sympathetically.

Again? Alexander’s not surprised at all.

“Uh huh.”

The man’s gaze slides over Alexander with disapproval, letting his hand hang in the air, before he smiles at Thomas. “I’ll be going, Thomas. Have a good evening.”

“Bye, Horatio.” Thomas’ mirthful smile drops the moment Horatio’s out of earshot. “Finally.”

“And not even a thank you,” he mutters. He turns to face Thomas, who shrugs lithely, is obviously at ease with using others for his own sake.

“Hey, you're getting an earlier interview. You should be saying thank you,” Thomas points out matter-of-factly. “Gates just can’t stop talking about himself. It’s like no one else exists in his world,” he sighs.

Alexander squints at him. “Do you hear yourself when you speak, or do you just like the sound of it?”

“Sure,” Thomas says, smirks at him flirtatiously, eyes glinting. “Lots of people love my voice.”

Alexander hates him so much.

“Besides, I thought you wanted to talk all about me. Got a problem?” He laughs, smooth as molten chocolate, and spins on his heel, expecting Alexander to follow.

He hates him. So much.

“Did ya have fun with Johnny boy?” Thomas croons mockingly. “He was looking at you like a lost puppy. You picking him up and taking him home?”

“Don't talk about him like that.”

“Ooh. Hit a nerve? What about you? Disappointed that you aren't going to?”

“What the hell is _your_ problem?” Alexander thinks that Thomas purposefully acts more annoying with him just to irk him, but that might be giving him too much credit.

“You can back out of the interview anytime,” Thomas reminds.

“Ha.”

They make their way through the crowd. Thomas take and pops a small slice of cheese into his mouth, humming lowly.

“Where are we going?” Alexander asks, following Thomas down the myriad of hallways. “If I vanish mysteriously, I'll come back and haunt you.”

“Don't worry. Angelica would accident me and I just can't have that happen,” Thomas says. “It's bad for business.”

Alexander rolls his eyes.

“We're just going somewhere quieter,” Thomas explains vaguely. Does he even know where they're going? They're turning really random corners. Are they lost? “Though with you, it's never quiet.”

That’s not the first time someone’s said that to Alexander, and it won’t be the last. “Hey, if you really _want_ to go back to chatting with idiots to feel better about yourself…”

“Already there,” Thomas says.

Alexander is about to say something witty in reply but Thomas opens a frosted glass door to reveal a balcony. He lets in a breeze that hits Alexander face first and tastes of warm summer smoke. There's an elegant white table and colorful flowers decorating the sides.

Alexander stares for a moment at the night view of Manhattan. New York is so different from Nevis. Here, the ocean is one filled with people and honking cars, not crashing tides that ebb and flow gently at dawn. The stars are all superficial, human, and just as insignificant. Looking at where he is now, so high up...yet.

He recovers, but not quickly enough to escape Thomas’ notice. Thomas cocks his head, sitting down already and leaning back in his seat like a king. “Beautiful, isn't it?” he asks, a touch of pensiveness, perhaps even wistful, in the curl of his lips, and it doesn't sound like he's talking about the view.

“What do you mean?”

“Expensive. So don't waste my time. An hour runs for a thousand dollars.” He says it so nonchalantly with such a catty smirk.

Alexander groans. Thomas must be doing this on purpose to annoy him. Money doesn't come by easily, but it sure seems to rain down on Thomas, who was substantially less rude the first time they'd met. Part of him—a young and foolish part—wishes Thomas had never found out he was a journalist. Or more accurately, wishes he'd never found out Thomas was a lawyer.

But he did, and so here they are.

“And that’s just one of many reasons why you’re horrible,” Alexander says, sitting down from across him. “There's nothing about the legal system that's fair. The wealthy can get away with murder and the poor can't even get away with existing.”

“Oh! I'm sorry, Alexander, is this an interview or should I call my lawyer?” Thomas asks. He splays a hand over his chest as if in shock. Then he cocks his head and smirks slowly. “You speak like you’d let the poor get away with murder,” he drawls.

“I didn’t say that,” Alexander grumbles, but he is considering it. They’re pretty high off from the ground here. Maybe he can pull a Reichenbach Falls.

Thomas must be psychic (or plain psychotic) because he laughs. “Right.”

Alexander conducts the interview, asking about Thomas’ reason for becoming a lawyer and what he enjoys about it. Thomas gives a perfect, rehearsed story about how he believes in preventing people from abusing the law and vice versa, how attorneys are central to maintaining order in society. He gives an effortless spiel to explain why any settlement he makes, every case he closes is the perfect resolution. As good as it can get.

Halfway through, Thomas waves a hand vaguely, mimics a writing motion. “Aren’t you going to write any of this down, or do you plan on blatantly misquoting me?”

“Huh.” Alexander shrugs. “I think toilet paper would be more apt for this bullshit you give the public,” he says. “Nothing you've said hasn't been spread around already. In fact, what you just told me is identical to what you say every time.”

Technically, this is like the third time Thomas Jefferson has been willing to speak to the media. In his whole career. For someone who is so good at bantering and rehearsed speeches, Thomas is surprisingly shy with the public. There must be a reason for it.

Alexander doesn't believe a word Thomas has said on the record, and nothing about him gives Alexander enough proof to publish anything else.

Thomas looks shocked for a second, expression blank, then laughs. “Wow. My God. Do the Schuyler sisters know that you're this rude?” He thins his lips and stands up, and he’s genuinely vexed as he frowns at Alexander. “If you aren’t going to report on what I said, then what is the point of this interview other than to waste my time?”

“Throw a thousand dollars down the drain?” Alexander asks wryly. He stands up as well, across from Thomas.

Thomas looks mildly disappointed, and Alexander finds that laughable, really damn _funny_ , because Thomas has no fucking idea how disappointed Alexander is when he found out how huge of a hypocritical liar Thomas actually is, especially when what Thomas had written on social justice and the like was what got Alexander through a very dark time in his life.

“You're all talk.” Thomas pushes out his chair and heads back inside.

“So are you,” Alexander says. “You're all talk and you act the complete opposite. I don't understand. How can someone who's so good at pretending to care about people care so little? The books you used to publish—”

Thomas doesn’t turn around but lingers at the door. “If I wanted to be a philanthropist, Hamilton, I'd go volunteer at an orphanage,” he cuts him off bitingly.

That is so not the point. "You know," Alexander calls out, hands clenched, "if you tried just a little harder to be good, a lot of people would benefit. So why not?” If he had a notebook, he'd chuck it at Thomas' head so hard right about now, or whenever at all, really. "Why not?"

"You know," Thomas retorts, spinning around to glower at him, "if you care about that, why aren't you a lawyer?”

Alexander shakes his head. He wanted to be a lawyer once, he did try, but like so many other things in his life, it didn't work out. “So many families could benefit—”

“ _Ha_ , no, this is not a family business—”

“Why do you always dodge the question?”

“Why do you always ask rhetorical questions that beg to be questioned?”

“There! Listen to yourself! You prove my point with every word you say.”

Thomas laughs, perhaps more harshly than he'd intended, more bitter, more truthful, and Alexander stills, unsure what to do with that. “Then why are you still here?” he asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer, storming off. He slams the door. Or, well, tries to, but the door wheezes quietly and slowly closes.

Well, that went about just as disastrously as he'd expected. Enough for Alexander to catch a glimpse of the shadow of Thomas' conscience, but not enough for much else. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No promises on frequent updates, as I juggle between this and my other fic;; I breathe kudos and comments <3 <3 <3  
> and you can come find me on tumblr @kolminye too!


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